---Krish’s Perspective---
“Alright… If you won’t say it, I will! I’m lonely! I miss the Cuddle Puddle!” I whinge.
Without looking up from his easel, Mage responds “Four months ago…*scratch*…you didn’t know…*squint*…what a ‘Cuddle Puddle’ was!...*scratch* *scratch*…We slept in…*scratch* the Cuddle Puddle…*scratch*…last night…*scratch*…Additionally, you are…*scratch*…currently lying against…*scratch**scratch**scratch*…a mirkbeast…*squint*…with a bundle of love on your lap!”
“I get it! We still do the Cuddle Puddle and Sam and Fluffy are always available… but, you know, since Cuddles and Elf got together it feels like it’s every night that someone is otherwise engaged! The leather and lace twins weren’t there last night, the night before it was Mouse and Samus! The night before it was just us and the pets, which… no offense but… felt a bit too… intimate for me…”
Still focusing only on capturing the details of the plant from the last deathworld we surveyed, Mage’s lips tighten into an amused smirk “No offence taken…*scratch*…you aren’t my type either!”
I sit silently for a few more moments stroking one of Fluffy’s middle legs with my left hand and Sam’s panting head with my right, as he rests on my lap.
Then a bitter thought occurs to me “Y’notice how it’s all the white folk who’re happy and satisfied?”
At this Mage stiffens, puts down his pencil and turns to me with an eyebrow raised.
“Do you honestly believe that our singlehood is the result of our skin’s higher melanin and not the result of the fact that we happened to get hired to a ship with the only prospects being 4 people who form two matches made in heaven, leaving us at a loose end? What’s the mechanism? If we’d been white Samus would have ceased to be a ‘Friend of Sappho’? Mouse would have been more attracted to one of us than Samus? Cuddles would have asked me to join him for bondage play? You think Tuun cares? She’s not Human and is literally colourblind! Plus she’s darker than either of us. Do you really want to accuse our Dormmates and friends of being the kind of bigots who’re, thankfully, mostly still confined to Earth?”
He’s right and I know it. Racism is almost unheard of among Starbound Humans. Sure, different planets tend to get settled along cultural lines but each one is a rainbow of diversity on the ground and, in nonHuman areas of space, Humans are always so happy to see eachother that none of them bother to get out their colour swatches to check the appropriateness of the other’s skin tone before becoming friends(!) Something about the kind of xenophobic mindset of the racist, keeps them Earthbound. Probably the fact that ‘xenophobia’ means fear of the alien/strange and…space is nothing if not alien and strange! Plus, it’s not as if I particularly fancy any of my fellow Dormmates, I wouldn’t kick any of them out of bed but... I’m just sour and it’s affecting my thoughts.
“You’re right… I shouldn’t have said that… I’m sorry…”
Holding up a hand, Mage responds “Those who might’ve taken offence are mercifully, not present…though…I don’t know how much Sam understood or might care to relay!” smirking.
Hearing his name, Sam perks up “What being?”
Relieved, I rub his head and say “Nothing buddy, go back to dozing.”
“OK! Happy being!” he says.
“I know you are… my ancestors bred your ancestors for tens of thousands of years to get you friendly and happy all the time…”
Looking straight at me, uncharacteristically blankly, Sam says “Knowing that. Still happy being.” before returning to his normal, satisfied expression and resting his head on my legs.
Fuck, now I’m taking it out on Sam! Precious little Sam!
If I apologise he won’t know what for.
Better just give him apology scritches.
Ah, there we go! We both feel better now.
Still looking at me, Mage asks “So… what’s eating you? Is it just the fear of losing the Cuddle Puddle? Your frustrated love life? Something else?”
I frown, thinking “It’s both of those…plus job stress…”
Eyebrow raised, he asks “Job stress?”
“Yeah, y’know… like I have all this amazing range and I only get to exercise it in Triple M! I know cooking for aliens is far better paid, more prestigious and, in theory, interesting than cooking for Humans… but like 80% of the crew can’t have any spice at all… tonnes of them can’t have gluten…almost none of them eat meat. And the calorie content they require… is just…pitiful! I feel like I’m serving wet cardboard to them every day! None of the other cooks understand!” I’m upsetting myself.
Mage ponders a moment “You feel like you’re not being challenged? Starbound life was a dream and, now you’re here, it’s a bit of a let-down?”
I screw up my face “Kinda? I have a tonne of fun in the dorm and work is satisfying in a way… just, I pictured BOLDLY GOING, you know? You five, BOLDLY GO! I’m stuck on the ship listening to the Captain complain about short staffing!”
Surprised, Mage asks “We’re short staffed?”
I roll my eyes, bored of hearing about it and not particularly thrilled about talking of it “Yeeeeees… She came to the Mess today and talked ad nauseam about how: we need more qualified researchers, Gato’s been complaining that he needs assistants because there are aspects of care nursedroids can’t cover, more people in maintenance, more custodians, oh and, we had to turn down some lucrative prisoner transport contracts recently cause, even though we have a brig, we don’t have anyone who’s qualified to attend it… there was some reason Terrans couldn’t… GU probably consider it ‘cruel and unusual’!” we chuckle “The only problem is no one qualified’s volunteered for any of those positions in the last few ports. But it was just an example… the point is, it’s humdrum and it’s driving me mad!”
He smiles mirthlessly and says “Would you like to hear a direct quote from Victor from our last ‘bold going’?” without waiting, he starts “‘Troof! Spit those berries out, poisonous yellow means poison! Riketb! Get away from those animals! The noise they’re makin’ means “Leave us alone”! Katar’k! You cannot glide on this planet, the gravity is too strong, you will die! Oh, and Riketb’s been bitten! Who could have seen that coming!? Paralysed? Thought so! My job to carry you back to the shuttle, ain’t it?!’… bold going can be boring and tedious… in its own way.” wow, even if he’s paraphrasing and not direct quoting, he just had that perfect impression of Cuddles ready to go!
“At least that’s stuff happening!” I grumble.
“Ah, so ‘stuff happening’ is what you’re after? In which case, why are you sat on the floor of Triple M Commonroom, feeling sorry for yourself, and not out on the town ‘boldly going’ while we’re at port?” he smirks.
I open my mouth but have no reply.
A few moments pass before I say “…will…will you come with me?”
He considers “…sure…” he gestures at the sample in its stasis tube “This isn’t going anywhere… just… on one condition.”
“What’s the condition?” I ask.
“You have to eat something first!”
“What… how did you know?” I’m baffled.
Cocking an eyebrow, he says “For a chef, you’re terrible at taking care of yourself! What’s your mass? 60kg? You know chef’s usually struggle not to gain weight, right!?”
“You question my cooking?”
“No… I question your selfcare. Your clearly cranky and I’m guessing it’s because you haven’t eaten anything in…” he glances at his holo “…9 hours? Give or take?”
I doublecheck “Fuck, you’re good!”
Smirking he says “I try!”
Extricating myself from beneath Sam’s head and patting Fluffy’s side I get up. She’s getting a little plump, Cuddles must be spoiling her. How much of his salary’s got to go on lab grown beef sides for her? 20%? More?!
I move over to the kitchen and start selecting ingredients that will blend well but also cook quickly. I want to get out on the town.
“What brought on the comment about race?” asks Mage, as I eat.
“…Oooh… it’s stupid… I just… nothing.”
“It’s clearly not nothing!” he answers, shrewdly.
“It was the sign.”
“You mean the Triple M sign? The one proclaiming this Dorm a ‘Littlest World of Death’, the one Mouse insisted on adding a correction to?”
“Yeah, like… I know Latin has a cultural significance like no other language in Terran history… it’s just… like no one even thought of Sanskrit… or… or… I’m drawing a blank here, what would the equivalent be for Africans? Wolof? Yoruba?”
He laughs, aloud… slightly unusually.
“You realise that while Yorubas and I trace to the same continent, I’m more closely related to every Human member of this Dorm than I would be to the average Yoruba, right?!”
“What? What does that mean?”
“There’s greater genetic divergence in people of subSaharan African lineage than in all Out of African peoples combined. I’m East African, Cookie, that means the most recent common ancestor of you, me, Cuddles, Samus and Mouse lived, at most, ≈100,000 years ago (though some people do debate the timeline). The Khoisan, of Southern Africa split from everyone else around ≈240,000 years ago and the Southern Khoisan split from the Northern Khoisan around ≈190,000 years ago… around the same time as West Africans were splitting off from our ancestors. Ethnically, the Yoruba have as much to do with you as me! Though, I suppose, as my first language is Swahili, and Yoruba and (probably) Swahili are both Niger-Congo languages, you could say there’s some cultural crossover but likely less relevant than the cultural crossover that East Africans and Indians shared during the Indian Ocean Trade!”
I’m flabbergasted “Mage… I’m sorry… I had no idea about… any of that!”
Clearly use to it, he smiles “It’s astounding how few people do!”
“I meant no offence!”
“And I took none, you are a friend and I was happy to teach you.”
I look down at my empty bowl… I sniff.
I feel Mage’s reassuring hand on my shoulder, he’s a good friend. I have to remember that all of these guys are good friends. I can’t get too bogged down in wallowing.
With a gentle but insistent tug he brings me to my feet.
“Now, why don’t we see about getting out on the town, painting it red and by the will of all of your 33 million gods, going home with some sexy space babes and/or hunks!”
I burst out laughing at that.
“You can keep any hypothetical hunks we may run into! Fuck, Msia! I was just about to suggest that we should start calling you 'Monk' instead of 'Mage'!”
---later---
As I stride off the ship I take a moment to appreciatively look back at it, it’s so rare that I get to see it from the outside.
R’qali designers would obviously make a ship that resembled a bird… though, even they couldn’t find a use for wings on a spaceship so it’s just a body, head and tail with the dorm columns forming the suggestion of where wings would go.
It’s also about three times the size that it needs to be as, to a R’qali, the idea of not having space to fly is as horrifying as the idea of Humans building a ship with no space to walk! It’s definitely nice to have all those open areas but it can occasionally make the ship feel a little eerily empty… like riding an abandoned, but perfectly maintained, shopping centre around the stars(!)
We climb aboard the monorail and glide, through a forest of baobab like trees, into the nearest settlement, Mage is explaining to me why Latin has been so historically significant.
This morphs into us explaining where our nicknames came from.
I laugh when he tells me everyone assumed I was called “Cookie” because I was a chef, that’d be a bit weird for culinary school(!) All of us becoming “Cookies”! In actuality, I had a penchant for chocolate chip cookies and my dormmates decided to stamp it indelibly into me after I was caught, in the act, taking cookies of theirs.
We arrive at the station that the computer indicated would be the best stop for ‘night life’.
Making our way through the crowded platforms strung between giant baoboid trunks I can’t help but chuckle to myself… while there maybe ‘no racism in space’, specieism is an unfortunate, practical necessity. Our cabins all have to be octuple reinforced, over standard cabins, so that we don’t destroy them simply by living in them… Humans are just a lot… more than most species. The result is that you can easily tell those xenos who recognise the deathworlders as they hurriedly pull their friends out of our way and pull rictus grimaces at us because they don’t understand how to perform a Terran smile. It was amusing at first but gets irritating after a while. What do they think we’re going to do? Eat them?!
Catching my arm, Mage points at the sign our translators tell us means “Bar/Pub”. I nod and we walk into the entrance of a hollowed out baoboid.
We walk to the bar.
“Hey… you got anything of an ethanol % higher than 20?” I ask the weasel-xeno, staffing the place.
Taking a moment for our translators to sync, she balks “I… I… I’m sorry, Sirs! This is a drinking establishment! We can’t serve cleaning solution!” clearly apologetic but horrified.
Mage and I share a chuckling eye roll.
“What’s the strongest, ethanol based, drink you have?”
She hesitates “That… would be Vinjirian ale… Sirs…” she leans over the bar “Sirs… it’s 3.5%! I legally can’t give it to you without reading you a safety disclaimer first! I can’t recommend it!”
Stifling giggles, we answer, in unison “We’ll take it.”
I add “Biggest containers you have… read us your disclaimer.”
Eye’s boggling she turns on a camera droid, which chirps adorably and hovers up to focus on me and Mage.
As she begins pouring our drinks into tankards, which look to be around 2.5L (perhaps I should have asked what the container sizes were…) she looks down, presumably reading something.
“Sirs, you are about to be served Vinjirian ale. The Vinjirians have a higher alcohol tolerance than any other Gardenworld sapient known. Vinjirian ale has been known to cause paralysis, seizures, comas and even death in nonVinjirians…” she hesitates “…do… you acknowledge this and absolve this drinking establishment of all responsibility, should it turn out to have been ill advised?”
We both nod simply and say “Yes.”
Clearly still unwilling she pushes our drinks, one at a time and with clear strain, across the bar.
We, effortlessly, lift them, causing her eyes to pop near out of her head, and bring them together.
“Cheeyars!” I say, in Hindi.
“Hongera!” he responds, in Swahili.
We each take hearty drafts before bringing them back down, turning to eachother and, in unison, saying “Weak!”
The poor weasel girl looks ready to faint! ‘Bein’ deathworlders certainly ain’t all bad’ as Cuddles would say.
We sit down.
“So, what do you think, my friend? The barmaid is cute…?”
I grimace “She’s… a bit… furry… for my tastes… not that there’s anything wrong with that!...”
Mage is quite open about his tastes, I simply don’t share them.
I add “Plus everyone knows you don’t hit on people at work… and I think she might need therapy after our little display!”
He laughs “Both true!”
Thinking a moment, I ask “Mage… can you tell me more about… Human evolutionary history?”
---later---
Mage is getting some hopeful, admiring glances from a pair of 1.4m Red Panda’s from a few tables away.
He and I are sharing a laugh about the fact that, before their resurrection, people used to think Neanderthals were stupid, when she slithers in.
She was my sexual awakening.
She’s surely slipped right off that mandir wall on Naae Sindhu, covered herself in a silk robe and tracked me across the galaxy to finally do what I wanted to so much, the first time I ever touched myself.
“Mage! It’s a Nāga!”
“A what?”
“A Lamia! A Melusine! Whatever you want to call her! She’s… a snake woman!”
Mage looks at her, then at my face “…I think… I now understand why you objected, so strenuously, to Fluffy being referred to as a ‘danger noodle’ the day we met!” he smirks.
---Muselia’s perspective---
Serving drinks was supposed to be a calm, laid back kind of job!
Shoot the breeze with the patrons, slide them a nice, respectable 0.6%abv from across the bar… flirt… You know!?
Those two sexy freaks… *ehem* respected patrons, have really rattled me!
I’m fixing my eyes on them, definitely because I’m waiting for them to keel over from alcohol poisoning so I can quickly alert an [ambulance], and not because I’m hoping they’ll come back to the bar and ask what time I get off, when a red, clawed, scaled hand, with five fingers, a thumb on each side, enters my vision.
I look up into the fanged maw of a monster…
It hisses at me and after a [second]… my translator tells me… that the monster has asked for 0.9L of Vinjirian ale.
I quaver.
---(former) Corrections Officer Hasiakh’s Perspective---
I wend over the canopy platforms, stewing.
How dare they!?
‘The prisoner’s threatened to press charges, CO! We’ll have to let you go!’
I bit him to stop him from killing people!
He lived!
If these [fucking] gardenworlders had an [ounce] of honour…!
“Get out of my way!” I hiss at a dopy, gardenworld rodent who shrieks before complying.
[Fuck] I need a drink!
All the alcohol the places around here serve is so pitifully weak!
There’s that one place… they do that ale… the Barman is nice… not so shit scared of me as most gardenworlders, at least. Though, now that I think of it, didn’t he tell me he was retiring last time?
Perhaps, if the stars align, I can spend tonight coiled in the embrace of a strong man from Sahak… yeah, right! Anything else you want while you’re wishing, Hasiakh? Immortality? A cure for entropy? Your [fucking] job back?
Well, whatever. I need a drink anyway.
I slither into the bar and have the barmaid read me the disclaimer. I miss cracking jokes with that old [hamster] barman. This girl is quivering.
I’ve drawn the eye of every one of these gardenworld patrons. Those two (extremely similar despite obviously being different species from eachother?) at the back are the only ones who don’t look like they’re considering running and screaming but they’ve also clearly noticed me.
I sigh and take my ale upstairs to the, mercifully unoccupied, mezzanine level.
I nurse my drink for a few minutes before I feel the whole deck of the mezzanine shake with surprisingly heavy footsteps.
Who the [fuck] is stupid enough to intrude on a Sahas who’s just been fired and is nursing a lethal (to most) quantity of alcohol!?
Then he appears, that lighter brown biped from before. With that strange matte quality to his dark brown hair.
He’s not bad looking, if very scrawny!
It’s difficult to compare our heights as my height becomes length as the vertical becomes horizontal but… I would guess… holding myself naturally… he’s a little taller than me? [186cm]?
He fixes his gaze on me and strides over with unnerving confidence.
Wait!? His eyes face forward! Is he a predator like me?
No, hang on, think of basic biology, Hasiakh! He must be descended from brachiators! Those frontward eyes are for catching branches, not meals!
He stops by my table and raises his palm to me.
Only one thumb, weird!
He opens his mouth and speaks a language of hums and puffs for a moment before my translator renders it into the pleasing sibilance of Sahasi.
My heart skips a beat.
That voice is sexy!
[Fuck]! I forgot to tune in to what he actually said!
Let’s do that now…
“…nd I was just wondering if I could maybe share your table? It’s just you’re…”
“I’m not [fucking] interested!” I spit.
The nerve of this gardenworlder! No matter how pleasing his face or voice are, I’m in no mood for these games!
He looks utterly distraught before turning to go, revealing a strange bulge between his relatively normal torso and those weird ungainly perambulators. It’s like a fat storage bulge… only below his back rather than at his chest, like normal! The effect is… not unpleasant…
Impulsively, I call after him.
“Find me again if you get some strength! I’m not interested in breaking my lovers’ bones!”
He freezes, instantly!
Turning around, he bares his teeth at me!
The gall!
Does he think I’m some… hatchling(?!)... who’ll roll over and give him her cloaca from a threat display like that?!
…Hang on… my translator tells me that’s… mirth?!
Is it broken? What creature would bare it’s teeth in mirth?! Why is he mirthful!?
“If it’s strength you want…” he starts walking back to me “…how about a little wager?”
A wager of strength? With a roughworlder?! Has he lost his mind!?
“Do you know what ‘armwrestling’ is?”
A moment passes as my translator works.
“I do now… gardenworlder… Are you sure that you want to do this? I won’t be held responsible for your injuries!”
My translator informs me that the expression he makes is called a ‘smirk’…
“I think I’ll be OK!”
“Alright then, it’s your time you’ll be wasting in the hospital!... What are we wagering?”
“How about… a drink… and some of your time…?”
“You mean when I win you’ll buy me a drink and leave me alone?”
He nods agreement, ignoring the jab “Yes and if I win you’ll buy me a drink and share your table with me…”
“Alright, I’ll have [1.8L] of Vinjirian ale!” I say, placing my elbow on the table.
“I’ll have, the same. The [2.7L] I just had was a bit much.”
What a stupid boast! As if there’s a being on this planet that could be ready for [1.8L] more after finishing [2.7L]!
He places his elbow on the table and there follows a moment of awkwardness as we figure out how to mesh our differing manipular anatomies together.
My sensory pits told me he was warmer than most but I can really feel the density of the heat, gripping his surprisingly solid hand. It’s quite pleasant to an ectotherm like me. Maybe I’ll let him stay, even when he loses… assuming his arm isn’t broken!
“Ready or not… go!”
I throw all my strength into it, assuming he’ll lose instantly… but I barely move his hand! Then he starts pushing me back! He’s pushing me back!?
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
I clearly have the bulk advantage but simply lack the strength and leverage to apply it!
Where does that strength come from?! He’s entirely devoid of any meat on his bones, apart from the pleasing bulge!
Trembling with the effort I look up into his face.
He isn’t even trying!?
He’s just staring placidly at me… There’s no apparent strain! What is he?!
Seeming to decide this has gone on long enough he presses my hand almost all the way to the table. A [centimetre] stands between me and my loss when his strength vanishes. My hand [catapults] upward and back down into a victory.
I snarl “Why did you let me win?!”
He smiles “It just occurred to me that I don’t want to gain your time this way… I’ll be right back with your ale… then I’ll leave you alone…” he turns to go.
NO! I have to make him mine! By the Sands! If I let him go he’ll be sniped by someone else and I’ll lose him!
I shoot out my tail to catch it around his waist. I, momentarily, feel the power and density of his body. I’m almost dragged out of my booth before he notices and stops.
He turns to me, the brown skin of his face now flush with the red of a Sahas, as if he couldn’t get any sexier!
My hearts are pounding and my breaths short as I say “I’ll come with you… we can buy eachother’s drinks… then… we can share my table…”
He smiles.
---Hasiakh's Pespective---
We sit back down and I start.
“Sooooo… what are you? A super soldier? A cyborg? Some sort of… [approx.: eugenics] experiment? I don’t mean to be rude but I need to know how you got so strong!”
He smirks “Oh… me? I’m just a deathworlder, is all… nothing special…”
“Don’t be stupid!” I spit.
“There’s only one deathworld species in all of known space! Roughworlders, like me, are rare enough but you expect me to believe that I just… ran into an individual of the one and only deathworld species?... In a bar?... On a backwater portplanet like this?!”
Still baring his teeth in amusement, he says “You’ve got a holo? Why don’t you look up a picture of that ‘one deathworld species’, we’re called ‘Humans’ by the way, though you’ll probably have more luck with ‘Terrans’… funny you don’t know us, given a Terran loanword was the third word you ever said to me! It seems that our culture travels around the galaxy faster than we do!”
I try and think of the first thing I said to him.
“‘[Fucking]’ is a loanword from your language!? Your story’s completely falling apart! I learned that from a lizardoid gardenworlder ex and, believe me, if he’d ever been close enough to a deathworlder for lexical transfer to occur, I would know! He’d never have shut up about it if he’d known himself to have been in the same star system as something as impressive as the galaxy’s only deathworld sapient!”
He smiles, it’s only then that I realise how close I’ve edged to him.
I can feel that (ever so intoxicating) warmth radiate from his body.
“He probably didn’t know its origin… it is, something like, the ‘most mimetic loanword in galactic history’, it could have been through two dozen different people before it got to you from a Human… and it’s not from my language… well… it is, but it got to my language the same way it got to yours. It’s from another language on my cradleworld.”
His cradleworld still has multiple languages? Isn’t a unified tongue a prerequisite of a Starbound species?
I sigh “I’ll look up your species in a moment… could I just… ask a favour first?”
Surprised, he says “Name it!”
“You’re really warm!… It’s so nice it’s distracting… could… would it be alright if we touched?… For the heat transfer?… Is that too forward?”
Baring his teeth from ear to ear in a way that makes my pulse race in more ways than one, he says “I would like nothing more… well… maybe we can try some things I’d like more… later.”
He briefly closes one eye in a gesture apparently meant to convey trust and confidence.
Hesitating only a moment longer, I attempt to mimic his tooth baring and eye closing and shift my body onto his… what would the word be? The seat he makes of himself by sitting?
I nestle my back against his chest, coil my tail around his perambulators and indicate that I wish him to wrap his arms underneath my fat storage bulges. Even through the [silk] of my dress, his hands feel so good against my scales. Sands! He’s so dense! My guess is that he’s only around a quarter of my volume but… maybe three quarters of my mass!
There are several moments of silence as I enjoy my new heat bed.
“So… uhm… my name’s Krish… please call me Krish…” he says, with unwarranted nerves… I’m his already!
“It’s a pleasure and a delight to meet you KrishpleasecallmeKrish, my name is Hasiakh!” I mock.
He laughs.
“Sooo… you were going to look up Terrans?”
“Oh, that’s right!” I pull my holo from inside my dress, between my fat stores, causing his face to pull that red hue again and radiate such pleasant warmth against my neck and shoulder.
What is that? I’ll have to ask if he can do it on command later!
I go to Galactopedia and type ‘Terrans’.
The first sentence confirms that they are, in fact, the one and only, known deathworld sapient… but… ever so disappointingly… the picture disconfirms his truthfulness about being one. What now!? I need to have him… but… it would stain my honour to lie with a liar! Lets ask him about it… if he comes clean, maybe he can earn back my trust… please, earn back my trust!
“These creatures look nothing like you… Krish. I mean they’ve got the same body plan but… aside from that.”
He doesn’t miss a beat “Those two are Thai, they’re from a [untranslatable, original word: ‘Country’. Nearest approx.: Clanland] a few hundred kilometres from my people’s [Clanland]. Try an image search; ‘Terran Indian’.”
Shrugging my shoulders against his warm chest. I do. What comes up are reams of images of creatures that look a lot closer to him… but the variety is startling! The difference in tone of hair, eye and skin, from one individual to the next! The variety of heights, weights, arrangement of facial features! Some of them don’t even have brown eyes, they have black, amber, blue, grey or green instead!
I hesitate “H-how can one Clanland have such varied people, Krish? This is more variety of form than you’d see in most entire species! My own people only have the, compared to this, subtlest variation of the red of our scales, the pink of our underbelly and the mauve of our [head hair]! I’ve never heard of a Sahas who didn’t have green eyes! I mean, if one were born… it would probably be considered a birth defect and corrected with medical intervention!”
He smiles “India is really a [Clanland] of many [Clans]… but… It’s interesting, before you came in, I was just talking to my friend Msia, I call him Mage, downstairs about this…”
I try to remember the creature, then I freeze… I turn my head to look at his face, mere [centimetres] away.
“Krish, your friend downstairs?… He’s not a Terran too, is he…?”
Krish nods (agreement) and says “Yes, absolutely…”
“But…!?” I protest.
“He is!” he insists, his tone brooks no argument.
I sigh sibilantly "What were you and your friend of, you insist, the same species talking about before you chased up the stairs after me?” He chuckles at that, the vibrations transmitted pleasantly into my back.
“He was just telling me how the variety in Humans is the result of our evolutionary history as a species of [untranslatable, original word: ‘Pioneers’. Meaning: those who venture to unknown places to discover and settle] and [untranslatable, original word: ‘Nomads’. Closest approx.: wanderers/vagrants]. We settled 6 of our seven continents before we had writing, wheels, metallurgy, argriculture, mass transport, communication tech or even [untranslatable, original word: ‘bows’. Meaning: elastic launchers of projectile, miniature spears, for use in hunting, warfare and sport] … (the continent we didn’t settle was called Antarctica and was separated from all the others by vast oceans as well as being buried under kilometres of ice. It’s a little difficult and pointless to permanently settle it, even now!). People, separated from eachother by distance and geography, began the process of speciation in their new environments; light skin aides with vitamin D uptake in dimmer parts of the world, gluten tolerance is good if the most readily available food is glutenous, variation in eye and hair colour may have come through sexual selection etc. But because we’re [pioneers and nomads] we weren’t content to stay in the places we’d settled and adapted to. We started venturing forth again and, when we did, we found our cousins. We often thought the same as you; ‘these people aren’t the same as us!’ and there were numerous schools of pseudoscience dedicated to the notion of superiority of certain [Clans] over others, despite the fact that all credible research ever done has concluded that we’re far more similar than different and no substantial differences in quality (subjective as that is) exist between populations… The bloodiest war Humanity ever fought, before our First Contact War, was fought primarily against people who believed that their strain of Humanity was superior and ought to be the only/hegemonic one on Earth…”
I have a thousand questions!
What he’s telling me flies in the face of everything I know about the normal development of sapience. Sapient species expand their range on their home planets slowly, carefully! They make sure every new population can be viably integrated with the society, culture and infrastructure of the preexisting range! They make sure that disputes have channels for resolution, resources are allocated fairly, at the start, to mitigate the possibility of conflict. That’s true, even on Sahak (my template for everything the wider galaxy isn’t)!
Examples of sapient populations of the same species being cut off from eachother, while planetbound, and evolving in parallel are so rare I could probably count them on my fingers! Why wouldn’t it be true on a deathworld?! You’d think they’d be even more cautious about the dangers of population isolation than everyone else!
Are they really so much more impressive than the hell they call home that they can laugh in the face of the possibility of dying, cold and alone, because they couldn’t contact help from larger populations that do exist?!
Even if they didn’t realise that they were the same species(?) why would they fight wars against these other populations?! Why would they be so obsessed with attempting to work out who’s population was the most superior, given how impressive they all must be?
Eventually, nervously, I ask one question “Krish… how many people… died in this… war, you mentioned?”
With confidence, he answers “Around 73,000,000: 24,000,000 military… 49,000,000 civilian… out of a population of 2,000,000,000. 3-4%ish”
I’m flabbergasted “There’s no way that’s accurate, Krish! That’s more people than have probably ever died in all the wars fought on Sahak! That’s the deathtoll of a major conflict of an entire galactic arm! Why would more than two thirds of the casualties be noncombatant?!”
He shrugs “Don’t believe me…? Look it up…”
I trust him now “I believe you Krish… I just can’t believe…it, you know?”
He nods (understanding).
“You said your first contact war was bloodier… how many people died in that?” I say, turning my face to look at him.
His face hardens and he answers “More… lot more…”
It must have been quite recently, did he lose people? Let’s leave that alone.
“How many languages do your species have, Krish? How many varieties of Terran are there?”
“Languages? Thousands! Like, so many that it’s impossible to get a precise count as so many are close enough that it’s difficult to say whether they’re one language or multiple…” why not just speak the same [fucking] language then!?
“…as to varieties… that’s a question no one can answer but… my answer would be that there are as many varieties of Terran as there are Terrans… there are trillions of us now but no two Terrans are the same… at least… that’s what my grandma and grandpa would have said…”
Well, that seems to be the mystery of who he lost to the first contact war, that made him so bitter, solved. His parents must have been casualties of it…
I attempt to relieve the tension with a joke “Are you certain you’re all one species and not trillions who’ve put on a [trenchcoat] in order to be allowed in the GU?”
He laughs.
“Mage actually told me something interesting… by the standards of Terran biology the different [clans] of Human don’t even qualify as subspecies… they’re too similar… we do have Cousin species, who’ve recently been resurrected, all of whom died out tens of thousands of years ago… we call them ‘species’, by convention, but, in reality, they’re subspecies! They’re enough, physically and psychologically, different from us that those differences are consistent and measurable… but we can still have children with them… by Terran standards, if two populations can have viable children, naturally, then they’re the same species, though Mage says that is a little bit of an oversimplification. In fact… I’ve done a DNA test and I’m 2.1% Neanderthal, 0.12% Denisovan, 0.04% Longi and 0.0007% Tshwane. Mage told me he’s 0.5% Neanderthal, 0.01% Denisovan, 0% Longi and 0.4% Tshwane… both from ancient interbreeding events.”
I’m dumbstruck.
Eventually, I ask “What… what are the physical differences between you and these other species/subspecies that you lunatics saw fit to return from extinction, in defiance of the Will of the Sands?”
He laughs. There’s some sort of twitch of the… protrusion? Right in his crook where his body folds in half. I noticed it a while ago but it’s been… growing and… hardening(?)… the way it presses into the curl of my tail that contacts his crook is… doing something for me…
“Well… why don’t you image search ‘Neanderthal’? It’ll help me explain…”
I do.
The creature that appears is the most divergent from the standard set by him so far. He has pale skin, beady green eyes, coarse red hair, a weak chin and strong brow, an elongated skull and is far more muscular than any of the Terrans I’ve, thus far, seen depicted. It’s a little bit frightening to imagine what such a creature as that could do to me, if angered, now that I know the strength to volume ratio of his evolutionary cousin!
“You can see some of the physical differences; different cranial anatomy, shorter, more muscled…, see that barrel chest? That’s a different shape to my flat one. That’s skeletal, not muscular! they also have denser bones. Some modern Humans, like my Dorm Liaison, have red hair, pale skin and green eyes but that arose independently in them. Despite the fact that Europeans evolved in the same place and interbred with Neanderthals they didn’t inherit those characteristics. They just popped up twice.”
“…And psychologically?”
“They’re noticeably smarter than us… we didn’t always think that… the old stereotype was that they died out because they were so stupid… we knew they had larger brains but that doesn’t equal more intelligence… It wasn’t until we resurrected them that we knew how much more intelligent than us they were! I had a Neanderthal in my class at Uni… the connections he would make were astonishing! ‘This ingredient brings out the tartness too much… replace it with this ingredient’, shit like that!”
I’m floored!
“Krish…? If these ‘Neanderthals’ are so much stronger, hardier and smarter than you… why was it you resurrecting them and not the other way around?”
“Oh… well… another difference is their social psychology… they’re just not as socially conscious as us… they liked to live in much smaller groups, further apart… Humans are so socially intense it scares even us sometimes! When your species is isolated in tiny pockets, and never exceeds 1,000,000 but is usually more like 100,000… it’s vulnerable… precarious… There’s no one to ask for help when times are tough, no one who’s good ideas you benefit from in good times. Plus if millions of highly social, fiercely pack-bonding cousins come streaming in from the south, you’re liable to get overwhelmed and assimilated. Grok (who would become ‘Savant’) Savage, my Uni friend, always seemed a bit [untranslatable, original word: ‘Autistic’. Meaning: describing the state of a neurological condition that, among other things, can impair usual social function], to me!”
I smile “So you Terrans do understand why most species avoid your expansion method like [the plague]! You just don’t care(!)”
He laughs at that.
There follow a few moments of silence.
“Sooo… you’re a chef?”
Embarrassed, he stammers “Y-yeah, that’s right… what about you?”
I scowl, and say “Until this morning?… I was a Corrections Officer at Hnzak Prison! I got fired… for doing my job! …And have been meandering around the district, stewing, all day! That was until I came here… and met you!” I smile and bring my hand over my shoulder to touch his cheek… Too forward?
The protrusion definitely seems to have… something to say about me touching its master’s face… I’m not sure exactly what, though!
Momentarily, he freezes, before blurting “Cap! I could fucking kiss her right now!”
Who is SHE!? Would it be too impulsive to challenge a rival to the exclusivity rights of a male I just met? If she’s a Human?… Definitely!... I don’t care…
I twist my upper body around to make us face eachother.
“Explain!” I hiss.
That protrusion is extremely hard now. It feels so good against my cloaca but… I’m too angry… I shouldn’t be noticing things like that…
Without an inch of compunction he bares his teeth, broadly, in a way that causes my cloaca to twitch. “…So you’re looking for a job, right now? How would you feel about… travelling... and…furry animals?”
An extremely relieving explanation follows. I definitely want to get this job he explains might be on offer. The chance to leave this stupid [fucking] planet with a man like him and coil in eachother’s embrace at warp speeds through the stars is exactly the kind of wish I mocked myself for having earlier tonight! I shall have to make a good impression on this R’qali Captain; Tcakqaal. Though... I’m glad he says she’ll be sleeping, right now. I would hate for the temptation to exist to glide over there at top speed to snag this job before anyone else can steal it from under me. He also explains that there’s some sort of… initiation rite… required for entry to his dorm… He says it’s a secret… whatever it is, I have to pass it!
As the hours wear on Krish explains more about Terran history and culture, deftly avoiding their First Contact War.
He asks if I can taste sweetness, I respond that I don’t really taste at all; What looks, to him, like my nostrils, are actually sense pits for detecting IR and my nostrils are inside my mouth, they’re the only way I taste anything... by smell… but I also can’t taste/smell sweetness, there never having been an evolutionary need for a sapient carnivore to develop a ‘sweettooth’.
He shows me a picture of a demigod from his religion, called a ‘Nāga’. He confesses that this picture is of a carving on a temple wall, near where he grew up and that… she was the first thing he ever masturbated to.
She does look like me… though, her upper portion has been horrifyingly stripped of scales and her hands replaced with a one-thumb variety to more resemble a Terran.
It’s… flattering to think that I’m such a close likeness to his sexual awakening...
He also shows me a picture of a Sahasoid from an old Terran ‘anime’ called ‘Monster Musume no Iru Nichijō’… and confesses to having used her to satisfy his lust for ‘Nāga’, as a teenager.
‘Miia’ looks less like me than the religious sculpture, there’s something… softer about her… she looks too… cute. Does he think I look cute? He’s saying I look like her, I think she looks cute, do I think I look cute?!
In turn, I confess that it was his posterior bulge that made me call after him, that I found it pleasant to look at… alluring. He asks if I want to touch it. I do.
It’s pure muscle! There isn’t an ounce of fat in it! As much of a sexual fixation on strength as Sahasi have, that quantity and density of muscle should be offputting to me… ‘should’ be but isn’t.
His species evolutionary history as ‘nomads’ appears to have given them very appealing ‘buttocks’ as he tells me they're are called.
He, ‘blushing’ as he tells me, explains that he’s not a particularly impressive specimen of Humanity and that his dorm liaison is [20cm] taller and nearly twice as massive.
I reassure him that I don’t care and am not going to lose interest because someone more impressive caught my eyes.
Plus, if he’s an example of an unimpressive Terran, I’d hate to think of what an impressive one could do to me! He laughs at that.
I don’t tell him that he’s mine and that, that being the case, this ‘CSS Cuddles’ is not interesting to me.
Every time I suggest going to the bar to get more drinks he blushes and suggests ordering them to the table.
Every time the barmaid brings us the drinks, she looks more and more dejected at the sight of he and I entwined. That’s right bitch! This is my man! You think you can take him from me? TRY IT!
Eventually, he looks me in the eye and says “Hasiakh, may I kis…?”
He isn’t able to finish, as my hands knot into the front of his shirt and pull him into a deep kiss.
His lips are a lot more… mobile than mine. I quiver thinking about how they’ll feel on my cloaca.
His thick muscular tongue parts my lip scales to explore my mouth. I send my long, slender forked tongue to meet it. Coiling mine around his, I guide his up to trace against the tips of my venomous fangs. The thought that he might be paralysed by my venom and I could drag him back to my apartment is thrilling! Not that, with his constitution it would be very likely to work nor that, as a law-abiding Corrections Officer, I would ever commit such a crime… without consent! [Wink]
I love that word and it’s associated action even more since I learned them! [Winking]! [Fucking] Sands!
He brings up a one-thumbed hand to caress the back of my head, mussing my iridescent, mauve [head hair]. I reciprocate with a two-thumbed hand through his matte, dark brown hair.
[Fuck] I’ve never been so aroused! This is just like finding the cure to entropy, being granted eternal youth and WAAAAAY better than getting my job at Hnzak back!
After an age, our lips part. My eyes still closed, my breaths ragged and my pulse racing, I say “OK… mighty deathworlder; here’s my plan… right now, I am going to take you back to my apartment, spend the rest of the night getting a thorough practical lesson in ‘Human anatomy’ and giving just as thorough a lesson on ‘Sahasi anatomy’… then… in the morning… I’ll throw on my best outfit, take the monorail to the docks and [knock the socks off] this captain of yours!... How does that fit with your… schedule?
He smirks “I think I can clear space for it…!”
---Hasiakh's Perspective---
The moment he cracks the seal on my apartment door, I lunge at him, lustily.
I barrel the door open and knock him down beneath me.
Closing the door with my tail, we continue the heavy petting that we’ve been doing since the bar only now, horizontal!
[Fuck]!
That solidity! I’m embracing him hard enough to kill almost any nonSahas and he barely seems to notice the pressure! It’s so liberating to lose control like this!
His… protrusion is as hard as stone but as hot as magma, now.
He breaks off our kiss and says “Hasiakh… please show me to your bedroom!”
What?! What is he talking about?! Is now really the time to be satisfying your curiosity?!
I point to my sleep box in the corner of the room.
He hesitates… “We… erm… err… we can’t have sex in that… can we?”
Understanding breaks and I burst into laughter “Hahahahahahahaha! Not unless you are your people’s finest contortionist… even then it’d be difficult… just in terms of volume! *sibilant giggles* Will the floor do?”
He smiles his cheeky, crooked smile “Guess so!”
His hands move to my shoulders and pull down the straps of my black, [silk] dress.
My arms freed, he grasps the sides and I rear up, bringing my upper body free and leaving me clad only in my underwear! I’m so [fucking] glad that I decided to treat myself to a day in my favourite outfit and underwear! I don’t know if I’d have caught his eye if I’d gone to that bar in my light-canvas guard uniform, or if he’d have been quite so clearly appreciative of my [lycra] fat bulge support or cloacal cover band as he is of these purple lace numbers… though… from what I now know of him… who’s to say(!) [Wink]
Confused, he asks “Where’s your bellybutton?”
“Krish, I’m still not entirely sure you’re not a cyborg but I’m not! Organics don’t have ‘buttons’!” I mock, laughing.
He shrugs… whatever a ‘bellybutton’ is, my lack is clearly not a dealbreaker!
I wrap my four thumbs under his two wrists and my six fingers over them, he allows me to guide his arms above his head.
My fingers move to the hem of his top.
I pull it off him, over his head.
I take a moment to admire the bare anatomy of his upper half, it will serve as a nice appetiser to that lower anatomy that has me so curious…
I marvel again at how he can be so strong with so little flesh on him! I can count each of his ribs! They’re only slightly obscured by those, deathworld dense, pectorals!
Should I find it offputting that I can see a muscle on him that would never be visible on a Sahas?... Well… I don’t!
I indicate the two dark circles, with a small point, that adorn his chest. “What are these?”
“My nipples?”
“[Nipples]…? What are they for? My translator is saying something about feeding offspring?”
“Yeah, female Humans, emit milk… err… food for babies…”
“You are a male, correct? Why do you have an anatomical feature that is only useful to mothers?”
“Well… that’s because… *err*… y’know… I’ll have to ask Mage about that… unless you want to break things off to look it up on Galactopedia?”
“No!” I answer, instantly, then I [wink] “We’ll just trust Mage? OK?”
He smiles. That smile I initially took as a threat display! How could I have been so stupid!?
“I don’t have ‘milk secreters’? These…” I gesture “…are fat stores for crossing deserts from oasis to oasis… is that a problem?”
He shakes his head “I figured you wouldn’t... No problem at all!”
I bare my teeth happily, it comes so strangely naturally now.
I look down his flat, toned stomach. There’s a shallow hole with a fleshy knot at the bottom.
I point to it. “This would be the fabled bellybutton?”
He nods.
“I’ll have to ask about that later." I say, smiling
I press my soft, pink underbelly scales against his bare, siderite skin. By the [fucking] Sands!
He’s burning!
It’s making me energetic and horny, both!
I reach behind me, unclip and pull off my lacy support, letting my fat stores free against his bare chest.
He pulls me in for a deep, intense kiss while that protrusion gets so energetic it nearly lifts my tail off him!
Eventually, I pull away and, catching my breath and attempting to be as seductive as Sahasily possible, I gently bite my lower lip (self-envenomation [fucking] hurts! Don’t want to have to break things off for a trip to the A&E department of Vspit Hospital!), then I say ”…and now for the part of the ‘anatomy lesson’ I’ve most been looking forward to! I’d like to be introduced to this insistent little friend of yours!”
He smiles “Oh, he’s dying to meet you!”
Another kiss ensues as my hands move down to deftly unbuckle his lower half’s clothing support strap.
The tension released, I slide his lowers over his perambulators and reveal a fleshy bar, around 16cm long, rounded, moist at the top and as hard as tempered glass! It sits atop a… satchel(?) that looks as if it might contain two small eggs. He doesn’t have a cloaca. Though, I’ve been pretty sure that he wouldn’t since Little Friend first made his presence known…
My hand goes to cradle the satchel and he blurts “Wait!!! They’re sensitive! They’re delicate! You can’t be as rough with those as I’m willing to let you be with the rest of me!” both seriously and frantically.
I bare my teeth “…then… I’ll be gentle! Though… I’m going to need some… uhm… shall we say ‘operating instructions’? I’ve never mated with a mammalian before…”
He smiles “OK… this” he gestures “…is my little [untranslatable, original word: ‘Cock’. Meaning: sexual insertion organ]…” I don’t have any frame of reference for what a normal one should look like but [fuck], if it's supposed to go inside me(?) it certainly doesn’t look ‘little’ to me!
“When it’s enclosed and rubbed up and down for long enough, like this…” he demonstrates with his hand “…it makes me orgasm… when that happens I’ll shoot sperm from the end which will travel in an internal duct from my [balls: idiomatic, meaning external sperm production and storage organ]. It makes me feel really good when that happens! My hand feels good, someone else’s hand feels better, someone else’s… orifices, feel best! Though… if you’re using your mouth… no teeth! Lips and tongue only with teeth that are sharp and, I presume, venomous, that goes triple!”
I laugh “Consider me thoroughly educated(!) Now… If only there were ‘someone else’ present(!) Someone with ‘sharp…and venomous’ teeth(!)… Someone who’s ‘hands and orifices’ you could use(!)”
He smiles, wryly.
“What to do(?) What to do(!?)... Oh(!) Wait(!) I’m someone else(!) Would I function to ‘make you feel really good’(?)” I [smirk].
He laughs.
“I would be both honoured and delighted by you serving the role of my ‘someone else’, on this fine evening, my dear lady(!)” he joins, mimicking my derisive mockery.
“Though… I’m afraid, before you initiate your role of my ‘someone else’… I’ll need you to return the lesson so that I may gratefully reciprocate(!)”
I unclip my cloacal band, leaving myself fully exposed before the most exciting man I’ve ever encountered.
Playfully, I drag it across his face before discarding.
“This is my cloaca… It feels really good with contact and rubbing, my hands feel good, someone else’s hands feel better, someone else’s cloaca or mouth feel best… I’ve never had a… [cock] inserted in it but I have had a tongue, it was pleasant… I’m looking forward to trying it!”
He frowns and extends a finger and brushes me down there, then his face turns to dismay.
“…Is… is there a problem?” I ask, in sinking horror.
“You’re bone dry!”
“Er… yes… why wouldn’t I be? I’ve not been swimming today…?”
He explains “Human women have a similar orifice to… receive… but their meant to be inserted and they naturally lubricate! It won’t really be a pleasant experience for either of us if I try and put myself in you without any lubricant… but it’ll be much worse for you! You’ve, probably, never noticed because… tongues self-lubricate.”
I sink slightly, disappointed…It makes sense… cloacae aren’t really adapted to insertion. Still… I was so looking forward to trying that burning hot cock inside my cloaca…
“Is there anything we can do…?” I ask, not daring to hope.
“Do you have any lube?”
“Yes!” I perk. “I have lubricant for weapon maintenance! Will that do?”
He shakes his head, dashing that spark of hope “Stuff intended for engineering uses isn’t safe! They didn’t formulate it considering what might happen if it ends up in contact with… sensitive bits. It can cause a reaction. That’s a no go!”
I sag dejectedly “So… we can’t…?”
“Well… we still might… which way is your bathroom?”
I point.
Excitedly, he gets up, displacing me as if I weren’t lying on top of him at all!
He hurries to my bathroom.
“Aha! This’ll do…!” he exclaims, causing me to perk up, hopefully.
He reappears and, rather than instantly lubricating and inserting he says “Kitchen?”
I point again.
He hurries off, leaving me perplexed.
A few minutes pass before he comes back with a container of something clear and gloopy looking.
“I managed to find some products in your bathroom and combine them with stuff you had in your kitchen plus some water… I’ve sterilised it, it should be safe… could you just, taste it?”
I’m delighted but also confused.
“Leave it to a chef to cook a solution to a sex roadblock(!)” I laugh “But why would I taste it?”
He explains “I’m not a doctor and we can’t be 100% sure that there won’t be some utterly unforeseen reaction of the ingredients with eachother or your soft parts… if you can put it in your mouth and it doesn’t melt your flesh, or anything, it should be fine to use for sexy times!”
I guess… that makes sense… but… leave it to a deathworlder to be suspicious that lubricant, that he himself just made, might melt flesh!
Dipping a finger, I taste the mixture. It doesn’t really taste of anything but tasting good wasn’t its purpose.
“It’s fine!” I declare.
“That’s the happiest that any review of my cooking has ever made me(!)” he quips.
I laugh.
“Soooo… where were we?” I say, rearing back up to make my face level with his.
“I believe we were about to make eachother feel really fucking good!” he grins, baring his teeth.
“Oh, yeah! That was where!” I say, grasping his newly rehardening [cock], firmly stroking it back and forth in the manner he demonstrated.
He buckles slightly and nearly knocks me over by leaning for support.
“Fuck, Hasiakh! That’s good! Never been wanked off by a hand with two thumbs before, let alone one that’s attached to a Nāga sex goddess!” he bite’s his lip.
“Oh, I think it’s about to feel better!” I say, coiling my tail to lower my head to the level of his [cock].
I grasp each of his [buttocks], the very ones that started this crazy, sexy mess, and very carefully, keeping my fangs retracted, I begin working up and down the shaft while alternately coiling and teasing the tip with my forked tongue and enfolding it against the soft, spongy flesh of the roof of my mouth.
The effect it has on him is very clear. He has to supine himself on the floor and I follow him without removing my mouth from his [cock]. His [buttocks] tense, pleasingly, from the bliss he’s clearly feeling.
I typically don’t like to look up while giving partners oral… it always feels like they’re… leering back at me. This time, however, the expression on his face is just about the most erotic thing I’ve ever witnessed! [Fuck] how did a race of sexy deathworlders exist and I was never curious enough to look them up before now!?
I prod the side of his leg with the tip of my tail, indicating that I wish to encoil him. He lifts up to allow me under and my tail begins to wrap around him. Then he replaces his weight and I’m the one who’s immobilised! That wasn’t what was supposed to happen! I feel like my tail is made of paper and his legs are made of granite!
Finally, he builds to a crescendo and he releases while shouting invocations from the pleasure. Damn! I got carried away, guess there’ll be no insertion tonight! No matter… seems like we’re both very up for a round two tomorrow.
His seed is so… salty…and…savoury! It’s delicious!
I pull away and my mouth makes a very satisfying *pop* as it leaves his alien anatomy.
I swallow, with a throaty *gulp*.
“Thank you…*pant*… Hasiakh!…*pant*… That was…*pant*…amazing!” he says, breathlessly and without apology for having wasted his orgasm on my mouth.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it!…Erm… could you let me up?...I’m a bit stuck!” I say with only a little more breath than him, enough to keep from audibly panting.
“Fuck! Sorry!”
“It’s fine! It was interesting! I’m usually the one doing the immobilising, that role being reversed was…novel!”
He smiles.
“Now…” I say, with an affected, business-like tone “…I believe there was some talk of…” I coil back to lie, face up, and curl my tail to thrust my cloaca into the air “…reciprocation?” I smirk.
He smirks back and dips three fingers into his homemade lube. Why is he lubing his fingers?
He comes to kneel with one knee on either side of my tail, pinning it in place with his dense body. He bows to place his mouth at my intimate area and begins stimulating it.
Sands! That muscular deathworld tongue! Those nimble lips! That heat! My cloaca, along with the rest of me, twitches and spasms from the pleasure!
My hands grasp feebly at his head and shoulders.
My tail thrashes and undulates against his underside!
This is the Eternal Oasis! I’ve arrived!
I died and now I get to enjoy paradise!
The pleasure is ecstatic!
Then those three lubed finger slide in beneath his chin!
No! How many more levels of paradise can there be! The heat of those fingers sliding 8cm deep into me, in conjunction with the work of his mouth are going to break my sanity! Well, I don’t care if I spend my entire eternity as a gibbering mindbroken wretch! I want this god of pleasure to take me to every last pool in this oasis!
After one afterlife’s worth of pleasure equal to, presumably, some quantity of mortal time, I descend from my [nirvana] and find myself back on the floor, gasping with the heat of my lover enveloping me.
After some breathless minutes of post orgasm bliss, he speaks “Let me know when…*huff*…you’re ready to go again! …*huff*…That’s if you still want…*huff*… to do insertion.”
My brow scales raise and my slitpupils dilate.
I turn my face to his, quizzically.
“What do…*gasp*… you mean…*gasp*… ‘go again’?…*gasp*…You came…” I check the clock “…*gasp*…less than…*gasp*… [1.1hrs] ago!... You’re not…*gasp*… telling me…*gasp*… your refractory…*gasp*… period’s over!?”
He turns that Sands damned smile at me and says “Something, I didn’t tell…*huff*… you about Humans; …*huff*…our most secret and…*huff*… deadliest weapon…*huff*…”
He gestures down, drawing my attention to his impossibly hard [cock]. Then he reveals Humanity’s strongest weapon.
“Willpower!”
---Tcakqaal’s Perspective---
Well, that…Sahas(?), recommended to me by Dhawan, was an incredible find!
Interesting to think that, a scant few subcycles ago, I didn't know what a roughworlder was and I now have two of them in my employ...
I wonder how a recently out of work CO and a ship’s Commissary, on shore leave, ran into eachother? Apparently, according to them, they had 'savoury pancakes' together?
I'll have to make yet another call to the local authorities regarding the clear breach of employment law, committed by her previous employers! Honestly, you'd think Corrections Officers would know better!
The strangest thing is that it’s the second time this morning that a Human has brought in, intensely satisfied, nonHuman recommendations for hiring, having presought permission from the other members of Triple M to have them move into one of the unoccupied rooms.
It’s unfortunate that that Fulgensian mated pair failed the Fluffy Test but I’m glad they still agreed to join the ship on the stipulation that they have a room on Portside Dorm.
As I wave the scarlet, serpentine woman out of my office I wonder two things. First, I wonder how she’ll perform on the Fluffy Test… then, I wonder if I should look into hiring a Terran hiring agent?
They clearly have a knack for it!